I Know What I Am
by koyoote
Summary: What If: Kenzi was Fae and Bo's real introduction into the Fae world? An idea spawned from fics changing human Kenzi into Fae; Kenzi is now our narrator showing Bo the ropes and you just know she'll be getting into as much trouble as she can...


_Did You Bite the Hand that Feeds You?_

"_Run fast for your mother, run fast for your father  
Run for your children, for your sisters and brothers  
Leave all your love and your longing behind  
You can't carry it with you if you want to survive"_

_~Florence + the Machine 'Dog Days Are Over'_

There's something to be said for the big cities. So full of people, tourists, cats, dogs, and other animals… One could get lost in it. Which is entirely the point, no matter how much they stink. Jaded gray-blue eyes scan down the street, flicking between strangers, businessmen and drunkards alike. So many pockets, so little time.

Sticky fingers glide from Gucci purse to Prada jacket with a life of their own as the newcomer sizes up the 'donators' and any possible competition. It wouldn't do to step on any other home turf thief's toes. So far so good, at least that's what her sense of smell would lead her to believe. Street urchins always carry a certain deep unwashed scent of despair, depravity, and usually malnourishment. Her body would carry the same label if not for her own personal canine perfume.

One available in every wolf-shifter package.

About ten seconds until the first victim on this street notices she's been robbed, Kenzi's got it timed to an art form. So she slips into a nearby alley, following the rear entrance to a hotel where most of her donators came from. Only a few spaces left on her tiny body for wallets, and she knows just the place to pick 'em. Hotel bars, especially swanky ones like these, should really employ security.

She's in the doors, through the kitchen, and at the elevator, glammed, blonde, and ready for action. Now if only she wasn't so tired…

_The snow's falling down thick today. She can feel it in her bones, through the walls and packed high at her back. The wolf is whimpering in her skin, but her teeth are clenched so tightly she can't breathe through them. Nostrils flared and red, the cold has quivered and reddened her skin to heightened sensitivity._

_She should change, shift, transform… Her wolf has a thick coat, born for those Russian winters. Yet Kenzi's stubbornness is showing through. She may be the runt, but she's a survivor and she'll prove it if it kills her._

_If that __**man**__ has his way, it just might._

_It's been hell since that shifter came to power in her pack, becoming her mother's mate. In human terms he was a step-father. In pack terms he was alpha, the ruler with the iron fangs. Their family didn't cater to kings, not since Lenin's Revolution anyway. And her mother had never been one for following orders. She also did what suited her best, what provided best for her and her alone. So if leaving her youngest to freeze in a cabin closet kept her mate's wrath off her back, so be it._

_Kenzi can't help but feel the resentment creep in, the hatred. It's her mother, and she can't help but love her. But she can hate her just a little bit better. Besides, it's either embrace the anger or wallow in despair and helplessness. And Kenzi is __**not**__ helpless._

_If her family doesn't want to help her, side against their new tyrant of a King, fine. If her aunts and uncles, nieces, nephews, and cousins turn a blind eye, good for them._

_She doesn't need anyone. Her wolf has finished her howl of sorrow and loneliness. The makings of a lone wolf are few and far between and the danger of becoming feral is close at hand, but Kenzi's a survivor. She's handled Russian winters, an avalanche caused by her sibling's horseplay, and far greater perils than that no-good __**alpha**__ has put upon her yet._

_He won't kill her with cold. He can't kill her with starvation. And he'll never lay another hand on her again if all goes well. The snow's settled in and her skin's gone numb, eyes bleeding midnight blue._

_The next time he opens that door, there's gonna be one hell of a surprise waiting inside._

The elevator chime sends her heart pounding, rebounding from memory lane with a vengeance. Small spaces still do that to her. Cracking her neck in an attempt to calm her instincts, she wiggles loosely, freeing the tension from her limbs. It's time to blend and _literally_ stalking into a place full of money is not a smart idea.

A deep breathe steadies her pulse, another her hands, and the last puts a lock and chain around Ukraine and all her cold memories. Just a few more wallets and down through the garage, never use the same entrance twice. Hock them on the human underground, some like 'em hot, and Bob's your uncle.

Well, Boris, as the case may be. The shifter puts a wiggle in her walk for giggles and lifts her mood just enough to ready herself for the last run of the night.

Never knew it'd be a killer.


End file.
